Source: Half Hours with Great Story Tellers
Published: 1891: Chicago ~ Donahue, Henneberry & Co.
n/a
Plot: A man dons a gorilla-suit and plays the role of a gorilla for
the love of the circus-master's daughter

My article on the Origin of the Human Species had been months in preparation.
Much of the fame which I have since secured by its publication in that
widely circulated magazine, the Interoceanic Monthly, is due to
the fact that I spent weeks in deep investigations in ethnological science,
comparing results, and especially examining the points of resemblance which
exist in the brute creation and the nobler race of man. To say that I utterly
overthrew the Darwinian theory, and quite demolished the tribe of pretenders
who have since attempted to imitate that great apostle of error, may not
be strictly in accordance with modesty, but hosts of candid friends will
admit that it is strictly true. I know very well that, though my untiring
labors in the cause of science are not yet thoroughly appreciated, an admiring
posterity will dwell with delight on the name of Samuel Simcox as the benefactor
of his race, who showed where that race had its birth and from what primitive
elements it sprang. For further particulars, see the Interoceanic Monthly
for June, 18--.

My favorite haunt during the progress of this article was Coriander's
Menagerie; having resolved that this should be the masterpiece of my life,
I spared neither labor nor expense upon it, and actually procured a season
ticket to the menagerie, and passed many pleasant hours in watching the
wild animals, studying their habits, and drawing many valuable conclusions
from their points of resemblance and difference. Consequently, though the
apes and monkeys had furnished me with an inexhaustible fund of amusement
and interest, I was delighted beyond measure when it was announced that
Coriander had secured a live gorilla for his collection of wild beasts.
An agent had been dispatched to Africa, and had sent home, with great secrecy,
a real live specimen of this dreadful beast; and so well had all the negotiations
been kept that nobody knew of what was being done, until the monster was
fairly caged and on exhibition at Coriander's Menagerie. I entered with
zest upon a study of the creature's habits and peculiarities; and while
the idle curiosity of mere wonder-mongers kept a vast crowd about the cage
wherein the furious beast was confined, calmly I surveyed it from a safe
distance and made my scientific observations for the benefit of mankind.
And when vulgar wonder at the strange beast had somewhat subsided, and
I could get nearer the cage and watch the gorilla, I was more and more
impressed with the human traits which I discovered in the extraordinary
animal. His manner of reclining was, though impish, half human; and his
grotesque gait, as he sprang from side to side of the narrow prison, was
suggestive of his supposititious congener-man; even his terrible howl,
which rent the air of the museum constantly, had a human shade of sound.

One rainy day, when the great hall of the museum was unusually vacant
of visitors, I almost leaned against the cage in my eager watch of the
movements of the gorilla. I fancied him roaming his native African jungles,
the terror of every living thing, or rearing, with a strange grotesque
solicitude, his young family. I wondered how much akin to human love and
hate were the passions that raged beneath that hairy breast, and how much
of real feeling was in the loud and anguished howl that occasionally burst
from those fanglike jaws. Thus speculating, I drew incautiously near the
bars of the cage where the monster restlessly paced up and down, and was
inexpressibly startled at feeling his hot breath on my cheek, while from
his huge, hairy lips came the sound -- "Sam!" I actually jumped with astonishment,
whereupon the creature beseechingly said: "Hush, hush, for Heaven's sake
do not leave me!" I mustered courage enough to ask what all this meant.
The gorilla answered: "I am your old friend, Jack Gale; don't leave me."

So Coriander's famous gorilla was no other than my old crony, Jack Gale.

And this is how Jack happened to be a gorilla:

Coriander's keepers were too watchful to permit much conversation, but
taking from the gorilla--for such he still was to me -- the address of
Jack Gale, No. 1283, Morusmulticaulis Street, I went home to revise some
of my deductions relative to the origin of the human species, founded on
observations of the gorilla in a state of comparative wildness. The menagerie
closed at ten o'clock in the evening, and precisely at half-past ten I
was at Jack's lodgings, to which I climbed up four flights of crooked and
very dark stairways. The room was small and cheerless; the windows were
carefully guarded by thick curtains; three or four swinging bars depended
from the ceiling for the practice of its inmate in acrobatic exercises;
across the foot of the bed lay a well-dressed gorilla's skin, and at a
small table, and absorbing the contents of a pot of beer, sat the wearer
of this discarded robe. This was the haunt of the African gorilla. He told
his story in a few words.

"When you and I were used to talk with each other along the Tallapoosa
and Athens wire, I never thought to meet you as a live gorilla; but here
I am. After the war was over and the Government discharged so many telegraph
operators, it was hard scratching for a while; and after you and I left
the Decapolis office, I was well-nigh broke more than once, only a few
cents standing between me and beggary. But I kept a stiff upper lip and
struggled up to Cincinnati, where I met with Coriander. He was out there
with his menagerie and was about to come on to this city and open a big
show. He is a great old villain, but he has the sweetest, nicest little
daughter that ever was given to man. You haven't seen Clara Coriander,
have you? No? Well, you have not seen the loveliest and best girl in the
world, then. But, as I was saying, old Coriander was preparing for a year's
campaign in this city, and allotted a great deal on a real, live gorilla
which had been captured in the wilds of Africa somewhere. Oh, curse that
gorilla; I wish I had been dead before I ever heard of him."

And here Jack groaned.

"I love Clara Coriander. I suppose you have guessed that out already.
But it was the old story; poor young man, without fortune or friends; cruel
parents determined that their only daughter shall not marry a beggar; young
lady inconsolable and devoted to aforesaid young man, but dreadfully afraid
of papa, whose only child she is. Well, Coriander came on here and I followed,
the old man giving me the job of writing his posters and advertisements--to
keep me from starving, I suppose. The long-expected Gooroo arrived
from Zanzibar, but no gorilla was there on board for Mr. Coriander; there
was a skin of that celebrated animal, the beast himself having departed
this life off the island of St. Helena, an imitation of the example of
another much-feared person who once resided in that locality.

"Coriander was frantic. The great card of his menagerie was not to be
his. His long-cherished plans were a wreck; his money was spent for naught;
he had no gorilla. After all, I rather like the old wretch (Coriander,
I mean). He has an absolute passion for his 'profession,' as he calls it,
and was more in despair because he had no gorilla, than because it was
a bad financial operation, which left him without that for which he had
spent so much money. He was wretched in his disappointment, and postponed
indefinitely the opening of his menagerie, though my elegant advertisements
were in all the papers, and our flaming posters covered the walls of the
city from one end to the other. Gloom reigned in the house of Coriander.

"This was my opportunity. I was in love with Clara and without any permanent
occupation. Presenting myself before the old man, I said: 'Mr. Coriander,
you want a gorilla?'

"'To be sure,' said he, testily.

"'I will furnish you with one.'

"'The devil you will!'

"'Look here,' said I, stepping back a few paces. Grasping the top of
a heavy wardrobe that stood in the room, I swung myself up, clambered along
the top, sprang up and down over chairs and tables, raced around the room
with huge strides and jumps, and finally wound up my performances by rushing
at the astonished Coriander, and, beating my breast, gave a terrific howl,
that fairly made the old man quail as he writhed in his chair. I had not
been practicing for nothing, evidently. Coriander was actually frightened.

"'What does this mean,' he gasped, with some rage mingled with his perturbation.

"'I am the live gorilla from the wilds of Africa,' said I. 'Give me
my skin that arrived by the Gooroo from Zanzibar, and I will scare
this city out of its senses when the menagerie opens, after a brief delay
on account of the difficulty of preparing for the enormous additions, which
a discriminating public will be delighted to see.'

"Old Coriander embraced me with tears in his eyes, declaring that I
was a real genius, and was born to the show business.

"'But,' said I, 'though I am poor and need the money which you will
pay me, I have one other condition, and that is that you shall give me
your daughter's hand if I succeed.'

"The old man was rather taken aback at this, and flatly refused at first;
and we wrangled over the matter for two or three days, but, after seeing
me in the skin of the gorilla, and go through my antics and performances,
he reluctantly gave in and agreed that after one year of gorilla life in
his service, I should have the happiness of marrying Clara. He only stipulated
that I should not hereafter tell anybody of the cheat, and that not even
Clara should know of it now.

"I am aware that my profession is not high art as you call it, and on
hot days it is precious uncomfortable. But what won't a fellow do under
the pressure of an exchequer in distress, and enticed by the promise of
the hand of the prettiest and best girl in the world? The pay is not much,
but I keep soul and body together, which is more than some poor devils
do in this great city. By the way, Sam, have you got five dollars about
you?"

Now, if there was anything that Jack Gale specially loved, it was the
state of being in debt. He was never so happy as when in debt, and when
by accident, or the interference of friends, he got out of it, he was uneasy
and wretched, apparently, until he got in again. The normal condition of
the man was debt; so when he asked me for a loan, I could not help laughing;
and I told him that he had undoubtedly found one of the greatest privations
of his gorilla life to be the difficulty of contracting new debts.

"That's a fact," said Jack. "The menagerie opens at eight o'clock in
the morning; it takes me a good hour to get myself up for the day; and
we don't shut up until ten o'clock at night; so you see my professional
duties are very confining, and a real, live African gorilla is not supposed
to have first-rate credit with the people who poke stale sandwiches and
peanuts through his cage-bars by day."

I promised Jack that if old Seanecks, of the Interoceanic Monthly,
accepted my article on the Origin of the Human Species, I would divide
the proceeds with him. Jack and I had shared and shared alike with our
little gains too often in years gone by, for me to remember which owed
the other now. Besides, I told him that I had studied his habits as a gorilla,
and he had some claim upon the profits of an article in which his personal
peculiarities figured so largely.

During the next few days I observed the characteristics of Coriander's
African gorilla with new interest. He performed wonderfully well; it was
difficult to realize that the hairy, ravening, agile, and grotesquely-moving
beast, from which every visitor shrank back aghast, was only jolly Jack
Gale serving out his hard servitude for an anticipated bride, very much
after the ancient fashion of Laban's kinsman. The cunning rascal had a
fashion of leaping at the bars when curious people came too near, driving
them away from a narrow inspection by his hideous yells and angry mouthings.
But his roars, which were really artistic in their brutal sonorousness,
served us a good purpose. As I was night editor on the Daily Highflyer,
and kept pretty close from ten until three o'clock in the morning, and
Jack was caged until the hour at which I went to work, it was not easy
for us to meet. So we exchanged the salutations of the day and a few scraps
of news by using our old signals, learned long ago in the telegraph office.
Instead of the rat-tat-tat of the little instrument so familiar to both
of us, Jack, by a series of long or short howls and grunts, gave me his
message, to which I replied by careless taps of my cane or hand, nobody
suspecting that my casual movements meant anything, nor supposing for an
instant that a sudden burst of African forest yells, which sent a fat lady
nearly into hysterics, and made two small children howl with apprehension,
merely meant "She with the pink bonnet is my Clara."

And it must be confessed that Clara Coriander was an exceedingly attractive
young person. Blonde, slight in figure, and with one of those fair transparent
complexions that make you think of a light shining through an alabaster
vase, Clara Coriander was certainly as lovely a girl as one ever lays eyes
upon. Besides, she was an only daughter, and old Coriander had grown rich
in the menagerie business. Jack was a lucky dog (gorilla, I should say),
to gain her hand--if he ever did; but one could not help thinking, as he
noted her dainty manner and delicate, somewhat distingué
face, that she was hardly the girl to fancy a fellow who had personated
a gorilla, even for her hand. I was afraid that Jack had made a mistake
in thus debasing himself to the absurd passion of her cruel parent for
the possession of a gorilla. Moreover, by debarring himself from her society
for a greater portion of the time (Sundays only excepted), he left the
field open for some more fortunate rival who might, in the meantime, carry
off the prize.

But Jack felt sure that he was all right, and by a precious bit of deception
he had led Clara to believe that he was hard at work, night and day, at
some legitimate calling, earning money for his future ambitious designs
in life. The poor little thing believed in him, but Jack said it was very
hard for him to be obliged to see his beloved flirting, right before his
eyes at the menagerie (for the girl had a taste for natural history, and
was there often), with some perfumed dangler who was in love with her pretty
face and old Coriander's money. On these occasions, he hated himself for
his mean disguise, and found satisfaction in howling at the gay party in
such dreadful fashion as sent them quaking from his cage; and then he cursed
himself for having driven away his lovely angel, and was smitten with sudden
remorse as he saw her rose-hued cheeks blanch at his terrific cries. At
such times he could with difficulty restrain himself from shouting: "Don't
be frightened, dear, it's only Jack!" But he was fortunately preserved
from such an untimely exposure.

Old Seanecks was very mean, and, though he accepted my article on the
Origin of the Human Species, only paid me the pitiful sum of twenty dollars
for that valuable contribution to knowledge. Twenty dollars for the labor
and thought of weeks! Was ever anything so absurd! And there was Jack confidently
expecting at least twenty-five dollars to purchase a birth-day present
for Clara. Jack loved to make presents, and the deeper he got into debt,
the more presents did he bestow on his friends. Such another whole-souled
fellow as he was, to be sure.

But I pocketed the disappointment along with the money and went straightway
to the menagerie. There was quite a little crowd about Jack's cage, standing
at a respectful distance. In his capacity as the real African gorilla,
Jack had just avenged himself on a dangerous rival by snatching off his
matchless wig. This gentleman had long deceived his friends with his ambrosial
locks, but Jack's quick eye had discovered the cheat, and he seized a favorable
moment to make a grab for it. To his inexpressible joy, it came off in
his paw, and the discomfitted gallant stood with his bare poll in the presence
of the giggling and amused Clara Coriander. The amateur gorilla was in
a frenzy of delight, and tore up and down his cage, scattering Mr. Jonquil's
chestnut curls with savage glee. Old Coriander afterwards had to pay for
the wig, of course, but he was so delighted with the stroke of showman
genius displayed in its destruction, that he paid the bill without a murmur.
None but a wild and savage animal, of course, would "snatch a gentleman
bald-headed," as the old man expressed it. I suppose some of my readers,
who now recollect the occurrence, will agree with Mr. Coriander in his
opinion.

After the little crowd which this amusing affair had drawn around the
cage, dispersed in various directions, I drew near enough to hand Jack
a ten-dollar note, which was his share of the proceeds of my article in
Interoceanic
Monthly. He snatched it furtively, for the keepers were not far off,
and cramming it into his ferocious jaws (lined with blood-red velvet),
he howled in his usual staccato style, "Didn't I scalp old Jonquil,
though!"

One of the keepers approaching me, said, suspiciously, "Look a-here,
young man, you make entirely too free with that ere beast. He's awful,
he is, and some day he'll just go for you, if you ain't keerful. Why, this
afternoon, he jest tore a gentleman's skelp clean off his head, and he
was borne out in a fainting condition. Jest see the hair of him all scattered
over the cage."

I humbly thanked him for the caution, and drew off, asking for information
as to the creatures's habits. He was very talkative, and enlightened me
with much valuable knowledge relative to his diet, averring that he invariably
was fed before the menagerie was opened, the raw meat and live rabbits
which he devoured exasperating him by their blood to that degree, that
it was not safe for any person but the keeper to come into his sight. The
gorilla enjoyed this confidential communication, and roared his approval
thus: "He's the head liar of this menagerie."

Jack and I kept up a casual correspondence from day to day by means
of our telegraphic signals, for I had little time to see him when off duty.
Occasionally I strolled in of an evening to commiserate his
ennui
and cheer him up with a friendly sign, or when opportunity offered, to
chat furtively with the man-gorilla, who swore dreadfully at the bad bargain
which he had made. His confinement was growing excessively irksome, and
though his constant exercise kept him in good bodily health, poor Jack
lost his spirits and grew positively wretched in mind. One night, when
I had managed to find time to visit him at his "den" in Morusmulticaulis
Street, he grew quite plaintive over his unhappy condition.

"Hang it, Sam," said he, "you have no idea how mad it makes me to think
that I have shut myself up in that cage for a year, and with no chance
of getting out without telling Clara what I have been doing. And there
she goes pottering about the out the least idea that Jack, unhappy Jack,
is glowering at her from his cursed gorilla prison, longing to say the
words that would bring confusion and dismay upon all of us. And then when
I see some other fellow flirting around with her, and old Coriander leering
over her head at me, knowing full well how aggravated I am, why, it just
makes me wild."

I comforted Jack as well as I could, and bade him hope that some stroke
of luck would yet deliver him from his voluntary thraldom and bring him
to his love. He was hopeful that old Coriander would find the gorilla business
unprofitable, and would offer to buy him off, or consent to shorter terms.
He vowed one day that unless relief soon came, he would address the crowd
about his cage and inform them that he was an unmitigated humbug; that
he was no gorilla at all, but only a distressed gentleman, John Gale by
name, temporarily held in duress by that old rascal, Columbus Coriander.
But he restrained himself and waited. It was well that he did.

One evening, finding an unemployed half-hour at my disposal, I sauntered
into the menagerie hall, and watched the poor weary beasts slowly composing
themselves to their unquiet slumbers. It was nearly time to close the show
for the night, and not many people were left to stroll about among the
cages. Old Coriander was there with his fat wife, the lovely Clara floating
about in a cloudy white dress, and followed by a train of admiring swains.
The poor gorilla was stretched at full length on the floor of his cage,
with his face sullenly turned to the rear partition. Passing by the poor
fellow, with a little pang of regret, I stopped before a cage of apes,
poor Jack's next door neighbors. No wonder that he felt blue sometimes.

Suddenly there was a rush of hurrying feet; a strange confusion pervaded
the whole place, lately so quiet and still; and above the pungent odor
of the menagerie, I detected that of burning wood. The place was on fire,
and instantly everybody ran for the exits. The hall was filled with blinding
smoke; the red tongues of flame thrust themselves eagerly through the thin
partitions which separated the main exhibition hall from the lumber-rooms
in the rear. And the people who rushed selfishly down the narrow stairways
fled not only from the flames, but from the poor beasts who cowered in
their cages, or roared angrily as they caught the mad excitement around
them. The scene was terrible; the crackling, roaring fires sweeping out
into the long room; the wild terror of the caged animals; the shrieks and
cries of flocks of suddenly-liberated strange birds; and the surging clouds
of smoke which rolled through the high arches overhead. Passing near the
gorilla's cage I heard Jack's voice, as he yelled with stentorian lungs:
"Will nobody let me out? Oh, will nobody let me out?" Quick as thought
I ran behind his cage, and unfastened the narrow flap that closed the opening.
In another moment the African gorilla was out and across the hall, to where
a blonde young lady in a white dress was being helplessly borne along by
old Coriander, also encumbered by the stout mother of Miss Clara -- for
Jack had seen that his beloved was in mortal danger. Raising the fainting
girl in his strong arms, the hairy monster rushed down the stairs, astounding
the coming firemen with the sight of a ferocious gorilla carrying off a
respectable young lady, whose flaxen curls lay lovingly over the dreadful
shoulders of the beast, which, with ludicrous failure, endeavored to caress
the pallid face of the young lady with his hairy jaws, stiff with padding
and whalebone, and nicely lined with blood-red velvet.

The gorilla fled up the street, bearing his dainty burden--for, once
in sight, he could not stop with out exposure. Plodding travellers on the
illuminated sidewalks were startled by the swift apparition of a gorilla
carrying off a young lady, who was borne into dark alleys to be eaten in
the obscurity of some hidden den. Casual wayfarers through back streets
shrieked and ran as they beheld a flaming hairy dragon leaping with enormous
strides, and carrying the corpse of a nice young person hanging over his
shoulder. Good Mrs. Harris, who keeps the lodging-house at No. 1283, Morusmulticaulis
Street, fell down in a deadly swoon at her own doorway, as she was returning
from a class- meeting, to see the Evil One, equipped with the traditional
head, horns, and tail, breathing fire and sulphurous smoke, violently deporting
a beautiful young lady, who had for love of dress and other worldly vanities,
sold herself to Old Nick. Vaulting over the prone body of the insensible
Mrs. Harris, Jack eluded his few pursuers, and darted up the stairs to
his own private den, were he shut and locked himself and his fair burthen
from the world.

The lovely Clara revived shortly, and opening her eyes shut them again
with a great scream. She was in the den of the African gorilla. There was
more fainting, and more anguish on the part of Jack, who cursed his luck
and his folly together. "It's Jack; it's only Jack," he cried, with real
agony, as he tore off his mask; and the young lady, slowly returning to
her senses, once more opened her eyes and beheld her lover, a real African
gorilla from his chin downwards, but possessing a very resolute yet anxious
human head, very like Jack Gale's, with the scalp and grinning jaws of
the defunct monster hanging behind his ears.

This was an extraordinary situation; a nice young lady in a strange
garret, confronted by an erratic young man in semi-gorilla costume; his
countenance flushed with excitement and exercise; his eyes wild with anxiety
and alarm, and his whole manner that of a person who is in a state of utter
quandary. The truth of history compels me to record the fact that Miss
Clara Coriander threw up her hands and laughed as she would die. She was
a sensible girl, and liked a good joke. Old Coriander's plans were laid
bare to her clear vision in one moment; she saw through the whole trick;
and laughed in the face of the astonished Mr. Gale. "Oh, Jack," she said,
as soon as she could recover her breath, "how could you be such a fool?
Where Oh, oh, oh!" To all of which Jack could only reply by instalments.
But by secluding the young lady on the stairway, he succeeded in preparing
for their return to the Coriander mansion. Through the half-deserted streets
the young couple went in different guise from that in which they had before
astonished those who saw them flee. The gorilla delivered up the old man's
daughter, and was glad to be told that the menagerie, not quite ruined,
must needs he closed for a few months for repairs.

The show opened again in due season with new attractions, under the
management of Coriander and Gale. But in all the lines of cages of rare
beasts, no African gorilla was to be found. In lieu thereof they showed
a handsomely stuffed skin of the much lamented beast, which came to an
untimely end in consequence of a cold caught by exposure at the great menagerie
fire. Coriander's heart relented when Jack saved his daughter from the
burning building, and he found his inventive genius invaluable in the show
business.

I have seen the only young gorilla born on American soil, of which there
is any account. It has pink cheeks and blue eyes, and is learning to answer
to the name of Clara Gale.

2.Hamilton Aïdé (1829-1906)The Italian Boy and His Monkey

A Welcome: Original Contributions in Poetry and Prose
1863: London: Emily Faithfull
96-99
The life of a poor organ-grinder and his monkey deplored

"A foreign vagabond and his ape!
"Begging the bread away
"From honest English children,
"Who are hard at work all day!
"You'll have never a penny of mine, indeed!" --
I heard the good wife say.

I looked, and lo! a swarthy child,
With piteous, hollow eyes;
His monkey was his only friend,
And almost half his size.
A Vagabond Life? Well, so it is!
And they who work are wise.

And we who preach these saws are wise!
Jacko, in red and gold,
Held up his cap; I blushed to think
My sixpence would uphold,
In luxury's lap, the man to whom
The little child was sold.

And then I questioned him, and learnt
Of the hard and pinching ways
That young life was acquainted with,
In its weary tramp, to raise
Enough to pay for a bed and crusts,
From the master of his days.

And how he oft on steps, at night,
His weary limbs would throw,
Not daring, penniless, to meet
His wage of curse and blow --
Such idleness, faith! is harder work
Than factory-children know!

So friendless, ignorant, debased,
Without a single bond
To raise him, through a human love,
Unto the life beyond;
Almost tempted to seek for rest
In the heart of the first black pond!

I thought how children, mean as he,
For whom some mother strives
To lead them, through the fear of God,
To follow upright lives,
Were blessèd : for through the rankest tares
The grain of good survives.

I thought how he, too, once lay warm
In the light of love divine,
As he hung on his sunburnt mother's breast,
Under a Tuscan vine;
And how, when she lay in her grave on the hill,
That light had ceased to shine!

And I thought how bad the best of men
Might have been, if that light had fled!
"Vagabond lives are loveless ones;
I pity all such," I said:
"In the name of her who bore thee, child,
Here is a loaf of bread!"

3.AnonymousA Baby's Adventure --Jocko

Christian Advocate
1884
59, 40, 646
Aboard a ship, a monkey takes a baby and climbs the rigging, but eventually
brings the infant back down.

Not long ago an English lady took passage on a vessel bound from Kingston,
Jamaica, to London. A large, strong, and active monkey on board the vessel
took fancy to the lady's child -- a babe about two months old. The monkey
would follow the lady from place to place, watching her as she rocked and
fondled her little one. It so happened on a beautiful afternoon during
the voyage that a distant sail attracted the attention of the passengers.
The polite captain offered his glass to the lady. She placed her child
on the sofa, and had just raised the glass to her eye when a cry was heard.
Turning quickly, she beheld a sailor in pursuit of the monkey, which had
grasped the infant firmly with one arm, and was nimbly climbing the shrouds.
The mother fainted as the animal reached the top of the mainmast. The captain
was at his wit's end. He feared, if he should send a sailor in pursuit,
the monkey would drop the babe, and escape by leaping from mast to mast.
Meanwhile the monkey was seen to be soothing and fondling the child. After
trying in many ways to lure the animal down, the captain ordered his men
below, and concealed himself upon the deck. In a moment, to his great joy,
he saw the monkey carefully descending. Reaching the deck, it looked cautiously
around, advanced to the sofa, and placed the child upon it. The captain
restored the child to its mother, who was soon satisfied that her darling
had escaped without injury.

4. AnonymousFemale Vivisectors, and How a Missing Monkey Gave the Secret Away

The National Police Gazette
1880
37, 157, 6
A dentist's pet monkey meets a grim fate at the hands of female medical
students

FEMALE
VIVISECTORS,And How a Missing Monkey Gave the Secret Away.DAINTY DEVILTRY IN SCIENCE'S NAME.A Fourteenth Street Back ParlorWhere the Inquisition TorturersMight Pick up Points—Mangling and Ma[i]ming LivingBODIES AS A FINE ART.

The extent to which vivisection is being carried in New York
has roused Mr. Bergh to much indignant protest lately and the subject has
been pretty well ventilated in the papers. It is an open secret that experimental
surgery on living animals is practiced mercilessly and extensively in the
metropolis, in connection with private medical instruction as well as public.
Many of the advanced students of the great medical schools, even, have
organized into vivisection clubs independently of their regular curriculum
and prosecute their barbarous researches in quiet class rooms whose location
the keen detectives of the S.P.C.A. have not as yet been able to ferret
out.

Accident came near revealing one of these sideshows of surgical science
last week, however, and that, the most ruinous of all. It is nothing less,
in fact, than a "Female Vivisection Club."

Fourteenth street, from Sixth to Ninth avenues, is a thoroughfare of
elegant private and boarding houses, almost every one of which sports a
doctor's sign at its front door. The names of a number of lady physicians
figure among these. In most cases two or three of the female prac[ti]tioners
clubbing together and using the same office to lighten the expense.

Several of these fair priestesses of the pill-box are well known and
really able and advanced prac[ti]tioners, and are in request by the female
medical students here as demonstrators of those more delicate clinical
points which are not adverted to in the mixed public classes of the great
schools. Their rates are high, but as the instruction they impart is as
exceptionally valuable as it is essential, their classes are always profitably
filled with the sweetest and most select acolytes of medicine in the country.
The most popular of those private schools of instruction is situated on
the upper side of Fourteenth street, a few doors from Seventh avenue. Its
superintendent, whom we may as well call Mrs. Dr. X., is famous for her
real name as well as surgeon, and one of the most skilful anatomists in
this city.

Some months ago a physician who attended a sale of game cocks captured
by some of Mr. Bergh's men up the Hudson noticed that Dr. X. was the purchaser
of several of the finest of those fowl. Now when a doctor buys game cocks
there are only two inferences possible. They are purchased either for breeding
or vivisection; as no one ever even suspected Dr. X of sporting proclivities
her investment in fighting fowl aroused the rival practitioners' suspicions.
Information gained from time to time confirmed them. There could be no
doubt that Mrs. Dr. X. was either conducting or taking part in dissections
of living animals.

Her purchases were not confined to game cocks. One of her servants whom
the amateur detective succeeded in getting on a confidential footing with
informed him that her mistress had a perfect menagerie of kittens, puppies,
pigeons, rabbits, guinea-pigs and such small deer as are favorites with
the vivisectionists in the back basement. What use was made of them the
girl was unable to say. They were certainly never eaten, yet from time
to time they disappeared. These disappearances were always noticeable just
after the young lady students had had a meeting in the back parlor which
Dr. X. used as an office and which no one was permitted to enter except
upon her invitation. Discoveries ended here.

None of the servants knew any more than the first, and the couple of
young women pupils of Dr. X. guardedly interviewed on the subject preserved
an inviolable secrecy. It may as well be noted here that it is a point
of honor with those who take part in or view a vivisection never to advert
to the fact or to their fellow participants in it outside of the circle
itself. Accident, however, did in the present case what all the cunning
curiosity could engender failed to achieve.

Fifteenth street, west of Sixth avenue, is the very antithesis of Fourteenth
in the matter of respectability. It is a street of tenement houses and
old time dwellings which have deteriorated into lodgings of the cheapest
sort. Here and there sulky little alleys lead into rear courts where there
are stables for the horses of the truckmen and licensed vender [sic] who
leave their vehicles in the street over night.

One of these courts is directly in the rear of the medical house on
Fourteenth street, separated from it only by an extensive yard.

The floor above the stable is occupied by a man who practices veterinary
surgery in a small way, and his family. Among the lodgers in the front
tenement there was some time ago an exile from sunny Italy who followed
his national calling for subsistence. As a matter of course he had a monkey.

It contracted a mange, or something of that sort, and became incapacitated
for that ornamental part a monkey is expected to perform in connection
with a barrel organ. So its owner sent it to the doctor, as he is popularly
called, to be cured. It was a long task and a difficult one, for the Simian
constitution was completely run down and had to be built up with judgment
and care. In the end, however, Jocko became fat and frolicsome again. His
recovery was so complete that the doctor considered himself justified in
charging $25 for the cure he had wrought. The Italian, who had in the meantime
bought a new monkey for less than half the money, considered the bill exorbitant
and refused to pay it. So the doctor, who had taken quite a friendly fancy
to his Darwinian patient, kept it for himself.

Jocko was an ape of intelligence and docility, consequently his new
master judged it quite safe to let him have the run of the house, or, to
speak more by the card, of the stable. He was soon on friendly terms with
every one, from the horses and hostlers to the children and cats. He learned
more tricks than a circus mule, and was constantly adding to his store
of knowledge. As the neighbors affirmed, he only needed to talk. More than
one of them firmly believed that that would in time be added to his sum
of accomplishments, too. Several offers had been made for him by people
in the show line, but the doctor had invariably declined to consider them.

When, ten days ago, he disappeared, no one doubted but he had been stolen
by one of the [un]successful bidders for his valuable talents. Itemizing
the uselessness of any attempt to recover him if such had been his fate,
the doctor did not even go to the trouble of advertising him, but determined
to take his value out of the anatomy of the next showman he came across.
The monkey's disappearance was some days old, when his bereaved master,
smoking his pet meerschaum after dinner, dropped the bowl out of his back
window into the rear yard. It was too dark to attract the attention of
any of the servants in the Fourteenth street house, so he jumped down to
rescue the pipe himself. This done, he crossed the yard to get a step ladder,
which was usually placed against the house wall, to assist him back to
his old quarters. There was a light in the rear window on the ground floor,
and shadows moved about on the white curtain. He noticed at once that they
were those of women. A crevice between the curtain and the window frame
permitted him to see that they were bare armed, with long check aprons
over their dresses, and gathered about a table on which there were open
cases of surgical instruments. Some object whose character he could not
at first distinguish was confined to a curious iron frame on the table.
As he looked one of the women bent over it, scalpel in hand. The next instant
a shrill scream, an unmistakable shriek of intense anguish, reached the
eavesdropper's ears.

"I told you you would have to make an incision in its throat, doctor,"
he heard one say. "It will rouse the whole neighborhood if you don't."

"Very well."

And the lady bent over what the horror-stricken doctor now saw, or fancied
he saw, was a struggling negro baby, and with a dextrous swoop of the scalpel
laid its windpipe bare. Another stroke, and a portion of the windpipe itself
was removed. The subject of these tender attentions struggled and strove
to break the cords which fastened it to the frame, but it no longer gave
vent to any vocal sound. The women gathered closer about the table again.
The operator, whom the doctor recognized as the lady physician whose shingle
adorned the front doorway, bent forward. A second later and a shower of
blood sprinkled the bare arms and the check aprons of the surrounding group.
The doctress had ripped the monkey open.

Without waiting to see any further anatomy developed, the doctor jumped
through the window, glass, sash, curtain and all. There was a scattering
of skirts, of course. And he now saw that what he had taken for an infant
of Ethiopian origin was his own missing monkey. He had stumbled in Mrs.
Dr. X.'s class, at a vivisection.

What followed nobody but the doctor or a member of the vivisection club
could satisfactorily explain, and they have not so far decided to do so.
But from the fact that Jocko's master turned up next day in a new spring
suit it may so inferred that the result was satisfactory to him.

There are iron shutters on the windows of Mrs. Doctor X.'s office now,
and anybody with any respect for man traps had better beware of that back
yard.

Ringtail
Chattar, Esquire, of -- any Lodge, in any county, where he
can get board, is one of the finest specimens of the Impudent Monkey extant.
His men­tal perception is as insensible to a hint that he is de
trop, as his body is to a kick; the first having been fruitlessly tried
in ordinary cases, and the latter when those who have got "bored" by him
have been compelled to proceed to extremities, and propel him in
to-to!

He wonders what the deuce people "would have!" but never imagined what
they "would not have;" for, that they want to be rid of him, neither
his inordinate vanity nor his personal convenience will for a moment allow.
Then he is so very agreeable! and the organ of imitation is so largely
developed in his simious sconce, that he confidently believes he can do
anything and -- anybody!

With the fair sex he considers himself irresistible, and impertinently
peers under every passing bonnet; nay, should any unbonneted soubrette
be skipping along before him, on some "domestic errand bound," he familiarly
taps her on the shoulder with "Come, let's look at your face, my dear!"
and neither ugliness, nor the frown of displeasure, which he so frequently
encounters in return, have the power to deter him from a repetition of
the same impertinence; for, even if the challenged face be "ordinary,"
he is confident that it will turn to a handsome one -- turning to
his!

No one employs a tailor with less money or more "brass," or gets into
his books with a better grace.

Come what will, he knows that he has nothing to lose; and this "knowledge
is power" indeed to him, and gives a tone of independence to his air and
manner, that, if not dignified, is, to say the least of it, very -- imposing!

He never skulks out of the way of a confiding or a dunning creditor;
nay, if he thinks he is observed by one of these innocents, (which he generally
does, believing himself to be the "observed of all observers," he boldly
crosses oyer, and meets him nez à nez, -- exchanges with
him a quantity of small talk in the most flattering and agreeable manner,
and generally finishes by saying, "By the bye, Sniggins, I shall be at
home this evening --just drop in about ten. I must sport a new pair
of mud-pipes; and, if you have anything standing against me,
bring an account, and I'll settle it at the same time!"

This, of course, is all gratuitous mendacity, for be neither wants new
boots nor wishes to disburse; and, if the too-confiding "sutor"
should repair to his ready-furnished lodgings, (which he changes about
twice a-month, for want of change!) he learns that Ring­tail
Chattar, Esquire, has gone to the opera, or to the Honourable Mrs. Such-a-one's
rout; and the only satisfaction the poor fellow reaps is the thought engen­dered
by this second "enormous lying," that his cus­tomer must really be
"somebody," and may probably recommend him to some "nobs" of his acquaintance
for his scientific "cut" -- little dreaming, poor fool! that he is bamboozled
by one who is himself a distin­guished professor of the sublime art
of -- cutting !

He is a great judge of horses, (his father having been an under-ostler
at a livery stables, where little Master Ringtail Chattar was permitted
in bad weather to exercise the stud in the "ride,") and, being com­plete
master of the "slang," (which is of greater ser­vice in an introduction
to the sporting part of the aris­tocracy than a knowledge of the classics,)
the low-born stable-boy finds himself quite "hand-and-glove" with many
of the --equestrian order!

Both in Hyde Park and Regent's Park he may fre­quently be seen perched
on the driving-seat of a buggy, or stanhope, or lolling in a cabriolet,
"tooling" the "tits" with all the dexterity and air of the proprietor of
the "crack turn-out;" whereas he is only "hand­ling the ribands" for
some novice, who is but too proud to have the honour of his company, and,
above all, his valuable opinion of the "concern," in the praise of which
he is technically lavish, especially if (as fre­quently happens) he
has been the instigator of the pur­chase, there being a mutual "understanding"
existing between him and the honourable "dealer." This trade, indeed, seldom
fails him; for there is always a crop of young gentlemen so ardent in the
pursuit of that knowledge, of which Ringtail Chattar, Esq. is an acknowledged
professor, that their credulity is a "mine" of wealth, in the working
of which the afore­said young gentlemen incontestably prove themselves
-- minors! In fact, in the expressive phraseology of the "ride,"
every "green" is infallibly "done brown."

There is a curious and sometimes very becoming effect produced on the
physiognomies of some people, called "putting them to the blush," -- an
effect to which the amiable countenance of Ringtail Chattar, Esq. is as
perfectly insensible as a -- brass warming-pan! In fine, his effrontery
is equal to his egotism, and his manoeuvring ("tipping 'em the double,"
as he terms it) equal to both.

He was one rainy day watching the drops coursing each other down the
panes of his sitting-room window, and mentally betting with himself upon
the issue of the pluvial race, when two men stopped directly opposite,
and, staring up at the house, transfixed him as effec­tually as if
their eyes possessed the charm of the rattle­snake.

A single glance was more than enough for his quick perception, for in
the smaller one he instantly recognized the diminutive figure of an unfortunate
"ninth" whom he had "let in," and kept out of his money to the extent of
some forty pounds sterling money of Great Britain, and who had worn out
his shoe-leather and his patience in vainly seeking an interview and a
set­tlement; while, in the larger form, his practised eye at once distinguished
the horrible features of one of those pests of society known as bailiffs!

Evasion or escape was vain. He could not be "not at home;" that was
impossible (although he certainly felt himself "quite abroad") : so he
put a good face upon the matter, and, nodding at the man of measures, he
beckoned him with apparent impatience; and, as the man and his grim companion
mounted the stairs, met him at the door of the room.
"I'm werry sorry, Mr. Chattar," began the tailor, with some hesitation.

"Make no apologies," interrupted Chattar. "Pray be seated, sir" (to
the bailiff). "Numps, take a chair. Why the devil didn't you come in the
cab, tho'?"

"The cab, sir?"

"Yes; I sent that booby of mine above half an hour ago for you."

The tailor stared.

"Come; won't you and your friend wet your whistles?" and he poured out
a bumper of port for each; "and now, let's to business."

"Yes, sir, and I'm werry sorry," again commenced Numps.

"So am I," interrupted Chattar; "but there's a 'salve for every sore,'
you know, Numps; and, though he certainly was a tolerably kind uncle in
some things, he stinted me terribly. The fact is, I 've been con­foundedly
straitened for want of the 'ready;' but every­thing is for the best,
and I shall feel the benefit of it all now, for I understand the old boy
has left me a tolerable round sum; so I have no reason to com­plain."

Numps hemmed and coughed, and puzzled his brains in vain to make out
what his customer was driving at.

"Now, although," continued Chattar, "I shall be obliged to live nearly
the whole year upon the estate, I shall not cut London entirely; and, as
you are the very best fit that ever handled a pair of shears, I shall stick
by you. You shall make the liveries, too; but we'll talk about that by
and by. We must first put nunkey under the turf, and, therefore, the mourning
is the first thing. I suppose you can send one of your youths down to the
Lodge; or, stay, my fellow and he can go down in the buggy together to-morrow;
for it may be considered more respectful by the old fogies, if I travel
post!"

The poor tailor looked amazed and confounded. He was completely "taken
aback" by the new prospect which so suddenly opened upon his dazzled vision.
He already wished his "friend (the bailiff) at the bottom of the sea."

Chattar read his thoughts in a twinkling. He saw the favourable turn,
and determined to push forward at all hazards.

"If you are not particularly engaged with this gen­tleman," continued
he, "perhaps you will spare me a quarter of an hour of your valuable time,
and we can arrange the business at once; for I have really so much to do,
that the sooner this is 'off my hands' the better. By the bye, I am already
a trifle in your debt?"

"Don't mention it, sir, I beg,
said the unfortunate dupe. "Trigg," continued he, winking hard at the
bailiff, "p'raps, you'll call upon that 'ere gent, (a very expressive wink)
in Regent Street, and tell him about the business, you know, and meet me
at home, and I'll make it all right with you." And, opening the door, he
let out the bailiff with all possible despatch, trembling at the supposed
risk he had run of offend­ing a valuable customer.

"How's cash with you, Numps?" asked the tan­talising Chattar.

"Why, sir, if so be the truth must be told, we are rayther shortish
at this present time o' the year," replied Numps.

"Well, then, as I am flush, and this will be rather a heavy job, I'll
rub off the old score at once; and, when we have made the calculations
of what the new 'togs' for the 'flunkies' will come to, I'll advance you
the money, if it will be any accommodation!"

"Oh! sir, really," cried the grateful "sufferer," quite overpowered
by this graciousness, "I shall never be able to make you no amends
for this here."

"Nonsense!" appropriately interrupted Chattar. "You've known me in my
difficulties, and you have always had the delicacy never to bore me. I
hate a dun! Numps, I consider you have now a right to my patronage. Come,
take another glass, and let's to business."

Alas, poor Numps! he went home hot with villanous port at one-and-elevenpence-halfpenny
per bottle, and happy in the delusion that he had got "sich a werry nice
gentleman-like for a customer; so free -- so every think as a tradesman
could wish for," as he told his rib.

The next morning, according to appointment, he went gaily for the expected
draft upon Mr. Chattar's bankers. But the bird had flown! Yes, to the tailor's
inexpressible horror, the enemy had made a re­treat instead
of an advance!

6. Anonymous'IT.' The Wonderful Offspring of a Negro Woman and an Ape Which
is Puzzling Naturalists

The National Police Gazette
1887
50, 552, 6
A tabloid story of a pair of supposed human-ape offspring

The subject of our illustration [not available], "It," recently came to
this country from Africa, which was consigned to a well-known German merchant
who has for years imported every strange animal from all parts of the.
world. A reporter of the POLICE GAZETTE called at the store recently, Mr.
Herman Reiche, who is a naturalist, said that he had something from Africa
which puzzled him.

"In fact there are two of them," he said; "two of the most wonderful
youngsters that I ever run across. Come up and see them."

The reporter followed Mr. Reiche up the stairs to the third-story back
room, and there, in a roomy wooden cage, were the animals or children,
or whatever they are.

"I call them He and It," said Mr. Reiche. "I had She, too, but lost
her in London, where she died."

He and It were amusing themselves climbing on a little swing when the
reporter first saw them, but they came down to the front of the cage and
sat close up to the wooden bars, peering out with an expression of great
curiosity on their funny faces.

They are both males, and are thought to be about a year old.

They stand about two feet high and have long arms like those of a monkey.
They are of a slaty-gray color, and have big patches of pink on their bodies
and limbs. Red hair grows thinly on their bodies and heads. The heads are
the most curious things about He and It. They are as round as a billiard
ball, and about the same size and shape as a human baby's. The foreheads
are not at all receding, but on the contrary the bump of perceptiveness
stands out prominently over their big brown eyes.

The noses are flat and inclined to be retroussé. Their mouths
are something like that of Mr. Crowley, but they are not chimpanzees. Their
ears are aristocratically small.

They have paunches like a well-fed alderman, and shapely hands, with
long, tapering fingers and highly polished nails. Their thumbs are short
and spatulate, and are evidently not made for use.

They have no tails.

He and It are absurdly affectionate with strangers. The door of the
cage was opened, and He came out and threw his arms around the reporter's
neck as if he had found a long-lost brother. He clung to the scribe like
a frightened child, and laughed heartily when he was tickled under the
arms.

Then He nestled his little head on the reporter's shoulder and closed
his eyes in a gentle slumber. In the meantime It was going through much
the same performance with Mr. Reiche.

"I wish I knew what they are," said Mr. Reiche. "I really do. You know
I take the greatest interest in animals of all kinds, and have made a study
of them; but after the most exhaustive search in natural histories I can
find no mention of these."

"Where did they come from?"

"I got them in London from a man who is known to me as hunter Wilhelm.
He is an African hunter and explorer, and is as great a character in his
way as Allan Quartermain. Well, this hunter has been in the middle of Southern
Africa for the past two years and has had some wonderful adventures.

"About a year ago he came across a tribe of savages in the Zambezi River
country. No white man had ever gone there before, but the natives treated
him kindly, and he stayed with them a month or two.

"He learned from them that about 100 miles further in the interior there
was a fierce and warlike tribe of hairy men who every now and then would
swoop down on their more peaceable neighbors, tear up their crops, steal
everything they could lay their hands on, and capture the women, whom they
would lead off into captivity.

"If the men interfered these hairy savages would attack them with their
war clubs and slay them. They were all of powerful build, and three times
as strong as any ordinary man.

"The hunter did not believe all these stories, and he said so.

"Then they brought before him an old crone who said that she had once
been captured by the hairy men and had lived with them for several years.
She underwent many hardships, but at last managed to escape to her people,
taking her two boys and a girl.

"The hunter was deeply impressed when saw the children and he determined
to have them. He gave nearly everything he had to the chief of the tribe
and was permitted to take them away. He was three months making his way
to the coast and then sailed at once to England.

"As I said, I met him there, and, hearing and seeing the children, purchased
them. The girl or She, died shortly after she came into my possession.
She was older than He and It, and was about four feet high.

"She was very gentle and affectionate and thought the world of the little
babies, attending to their wants with all the love of a mother. These boys
came over in the steamship Wieland of the Hamburg line."

7.AnonymousJocko in London

c. 1820: London (?) E. Wallis
8 pp.
An Italian boy comes to London with his monkey

Without a Friend, or Parent kind; --
No hearth, no home, to leave behind, --
Unkindly driven from door to door,
Poor Sacchi left his native shore
To seek Old England's friendly Isle,
And try if fortune there would smile;
So with his organ, folks to please,
And faithful Pug, he crossed the seas.

JOCKO IN LONDON

From early morn till setting day,
About the streets would Sacchi play,
While Jocko danced in jacket red,
With cap and feather on his head.
But hard at best was long their lot,
And trifling the reward they got,
Though still with light and merry hearts,
They rose each day to play their parts.

A POOR SUPPER

The poor Italian ne'er forgot
How honest Pug improved his lot;
They shared alike their scanty meal,
And though poor Pug at first would steal,
His manners soon grew more polite,
And when they ate their crust at night,
Jocko would munch at Sacchi's board,
Steady and grave as any Lord.

"QUITE TIRED"

Sacchi and Jocko, faithful pair,
Wandered one day to Russell Square,
A long, long walk had Sacchi had,
And Jocko's face look'd rather sad;
Worn out with straying thro' the town,
Upon some steps he sat him down

"WILL YOU SELL YOUR MONKEY?"

Miss S. was pleased, view'd Pug around,
"Here, Betty, I've a likeness found;
"That nose -- those eyes so sparkling there,
"His very features, I declare;
"One glance to see them is enough,
"The image of dear Captain Cuff:
"Here, take this money, honest youth,
"The monkey must be mine, in truth.

A GOOD SUPPER

What, Sacchi and poor Jocko part!
Ah, no! 'twould break his master's heart.
Sacchi refuses -- Miss replies,
"To please us both, a way there lies:
My footman's left me in disgrace,
Let Pug be mine, and take his place."
So said -- so done -- to kitchen led,
On dainty fare they both are fed.

IN PLACE

No longer now does Sacchi stray
With Jocko forth to beg his way;
But saving money in his place,
He struts about in golden lace.
The string that gave poor Jocko pain,
Is chang'd for costly silver chain.
Thus, comrades still, well fed, and snug,
Live Sacchi and his old friend Pug.